Chapter 2.8

As the languid in-and-out repeated a few times, a particular act flashed through Liz’s mind.

‘This is just like….’

Liz recognized the similarity and flinched.  

Valentine seemed to realize something belatedly, looking down at Liz, who was biting his fingers, with a dazed expression.  

The moment their eyes met, a ruler’s delight spread across his face.

“Mm, ah…!”

Valentine pulled Liz’s head back with his other hand.  

A moan escaped her lips from the deepening discomfort. Their faces drew closer.  

Valentine whispered.

“You owe your existence to me, Isabel.”

Isabel.  

Even in the raw moments of humiliation and ecstasy, Liz was not Liz.  

It felt like her heart, not her mouth, was being torn apart.  

But would it be less painful if she thought of herself as Isabel?  

Liz imagined Isabel in her place now.  

Entwining tongues with him, opening her mouth to his fingers.  

Looking into his eyes like this.  

Isabel.  

In that moment, Liz unknowingly spoke.

“No.”

Valentine paused.  

Taking advantage of the brief silence, Liz shook her head with all her might.

“I’m not Isabel. I am….”

Liz couldn’t bear to finish her sentence and choked up.  

Liz Garrett. The name she swallowed down filled her mouth with sobs.  

In an instant, a storm of desire surged in his blue eyes.

“Wait, …ah!”

Valentine lost all composure and hungrily sought Liz’s lips.  

With his hand, he gripped her cheek, his body pressing against hers.  

Unlike before, when he toyed with her like a tyrant or mocker,  now he seemed to drink her in as if quenching an insatiable thirst.  

The name Liz couldn’t say, trapped in her mouth, flowed recklessly into him.  

The hand that had gripped her head and invaded her mouth now wrapped tightly around her waist.  

This longing was beyond Liz’s ability to resist.  

Even through her clothes, his hard body pressed down on her thighs.

“Ah, mm, uh….”

Liz shook her head vigorously.  

But she had to admit, it was different from before.  

Every time his body moved, the thin fabric between her legs clung and released, damply.  

Her face flushed with embarrassment.  

Yet she couldn’t say she disliked this strange warmth.  

The more she felt his hardness, the more her body melted.

“Hoo…”

He pulled back and stared at Liz intently.  

It wasn’t the indifferent gaze he had for the painting of Isabel.  

It was the fiery gaze Liz knew well.  

So, Valentine was looking at Liz.  

With a dazed mind, Liz reached out and gently embraced his neck.  

Valentine, as if waiting, pressed his lips to her nape.

“Mm….”

A moan slipped from Liz’s lips. His lips explored her neck.  

Even the lightest touch left red marks on her pale skin.  

Valentine seemed pleased, marking her neck repeatedly.  

The marks gradually moved from her neck to her collarbone, then further down.  

His lips slid carefully over her chest, past the lovely lace, to the swelling curves.  

Valentine pressed gently on the thin fabric, as if trying to feel her heartbeat.

“Mm…”

Valentine opened his mouth and bit Liz’s chest.  

But her chest, hidden beneath her clothes, was too full to fit in his mouth.  

Breathing heavily, he placed his hand on her other br*ast.  

Surprised, Liz flinched and placed her hand on his shoulder.  

At that moment, Valentine’s movements halted. Liz slowly lowered her gaze.  

Valentine’s hand was trembling slightly.  

Seeing this, Liz swallowed.  

He, too, held the same tremor as Liz.  

Liz exhaled softly.  

Instead of pushing him away, she gently wrapped her arms around his shoulder.

“Hoo…”

Valentine let out a sigh of relief.  

His hands and mouth began to move cautiously over her clothes.  

As her waist swayed, what was once soft grew more distinct and ripe.  

Valentine nibbled on her peak with his lips and rubbed with his hand.  

The soft volume, the firm lushness wrapped around him without resistance.  

Yet, though it was in front of him, he couldn’t see it; though in his hands, he couldn’t have it.  

That thirst parched Valentine’s lips.  

Isn’t there a saying that hope makes one more desperate than complete failure?  

Every time the red outline appeared like an answer through the saliva-soaked fabric, he felt he might lose his mind.  

He wanted to feel this woman’s true form.  

He slowly lifted his gaze.

“Haa, ha….”

Liz was letting out a breathless moan.  

Her clothes had already slipped halfway down, barely hanging on one shoulder.  

Her legs had lost strength, barely managing to stand, leaning on Valentine.  

There was no trace of the dignity he had taught her.  

Yet Valentine couldn’t take his eyes off Liz.  

She was the most alluring sight he had ever seen.  

He slowly placed Liz’s hand on his cravat.  

And, as if seeking permission, he wrapped his hand over hers.  

Hesitant, Liz gently tugged at the end.  

As the cravat unraveled, his neck was revealed.

“Hoo…”

His eyes bore into Liz.  

Liz blankly looked into those eyes, seeing herself reflected in them.  

The image of herself in those blue eyes was not Isabel.  

Valentine was looking at Liz. Because of that, Liz could allow him.  

Yet paradoxically, meeting her raw self in his gaze made Liz feel wretched.  

The way she responded to him wasn’t beautiful. In other words… it wasn’t noble.  

No matter how much she adorned and pretended, it was useless.  

In his touch, Liz forgot everything she had learned and melted away.  

Such a sight of herself was shameful to Liz.  

Desire is not a sin.  

But if Liz could never become a Winchester.  

If she allowed him, knowing this.  

How was she any different from a street courtesan?

“Mm…”

Liz’s back hit the doorknob leading to Valentine’s room.  

As if mocking Liz, who couldn’t become a Winchester and thus couldn’t open that door.  

Only then did she come to her senses.  

No matter how much he drenched her, no matter how deep his thirst. Reality hadn’t changed.  

His blue waves would collapse the sandcastle Liz built with a single sigh.  

In the sandy beach, where all traces vanished, Valentine would return to the sea, unaffected.  

For the sea is such an existence.  

Liz opened her eyes.  

She let go of the cravat she had been holding onto and slowly pushed him away.

“Valentine.”

Valentine froze.  

In the aristocratic pronunciation he had taught her, Liz called his name.  

The moment she uttered his name, her lips, once hot, felt cool.  

Valentine, unable to move a hair, looked up at Liz.  

In a gentlemanly way, so to speak.

“Such a relationship is not suitable for a Winchester.”

Liz told him in an elegant tone.  

Valentine staggered as if struck.  

The wildness with which he had lunged at Liz vanished without a trace.  

Seeing this, Liz hesitated for a moment.  

But the door behind her was solid, and she firmly adjusted her collar, turning her gaze away from him.

“…Understood.”

Valentine straightened up with a long sigh.  

Just then, a clock on the wall caught Liz’s eye.

“It’s too late. Aren’t you tired?”

Mentioning the time and expressing concern for fatigue meant wishing the other to leave.  

All of this she had learned from him.

“Tomorrow… I will speak to you again tomorrow.”

Even then, Valentine took a breath and bowed courteously.  

What on earth was it that made him feel relieved and disappointed at the same time?

Liz impulsively spoke.

“Honey.”

Valentine froze again at that single word.  

Expectation and anxiety, tension and excitement, joy and humiliation—all these emotions swirled in Valentine’s eyes.  

Liz slowly reached out her hand toward him. Valentine’s eyes gleamed.  

But it was only for a moment. Valentine let out a low sigh.  

Liz’s hand was extended with the perfect angle of a lady’s farewell.  

It was a gesture he couldn’t fail to understand.

“Have a… good night.”

He staggered toward Liz and bowed.  

His hand supported Liz’s, and his lips hovered briefly above her hand.  

The warmth of his breath, not yet cooled, heated the back of Liz’s hand.

‘Is this why nobles wear gloves?’

Her fingertips trembled. But Liz straightened her posture with effort.  

Meanwhile, Valentine’s lips brushed very lightly against Liz’s fingertips and then withdrew.  

Yet Valentine’s hand still held Liz’s.  

Liz stared at that hand.  

It wasn’t a lady’s etiquette to withdraw her hand before the other released it.  

Liz spoke.

“Sleep well, Valentine.”

Her manners were impeccable. Valentine’s hand fell weakly.  

As Liz turned, the sound of the door opening and the disappearance of presence in the room followed with a click.  

Liz slowly lowered her gaze.  

The white cravat on the floor was shaped like waves.  

Like the foam of the sea.

Valentine returned to his room, staggering, and stood before the mirror.  

It was the entrance to the attic he had intended to open for Liz.  

A hollow laugh escaped him. 

How did it come to this?  

But what had displeased him about the woman was unclear from the start.  

Was it the audacity to think she could exchange equal value with me?  

Misunderstanding my heart, or rather… my mercy, as a filthy price?  

Or was it not trusting me?